Two more classes, four months, passed Zechs by. The average quality of the graduates from the Specials school declined, but that was due to rougher starting material; besides, they were managing to train greater numbers of future agents. Meanwhile, the takeover of Victoria was proving to be a brilliant move on Treize's part. Large numbers of students—not perfectly trained, but very pliable—were graduating from Noin's tutelage. Each was significantly better than the equivalent Alliance pilot, and each was ripe for recruiting by OZ's field agents.
In a development Zechs would have considered funny were it not so tragic, mobile suit unit commanders were beginning to request Specials-trained soldiers. The difference in quality between those who were Specials-trained and those who were not was obvious to everyone.
"It isn't good, sir," Zechs told Treize on this subject. "We're attracting too high a profile."
"Are you waiting for me to give the order not to train the next bunch?" asked Treize.
"No, sir," said Zechs.
"We are maintaining a perilous balance here, Zechs," Treize responded. "On the one hand, we need to have a presence everywhere. We also need operating freedom for our remaining units. The way to achieve those things is by showing the value of our troops and our methods."
"But by the same token," said Zechs, "we have to somehow continue to look harmless. If we begin to look too threatening—or, conversely, too proficient—we'll attract unwanted attention. The last thing we need is some Alliance general deciding he'd like to take charge of this impressive unit, the Specials—and while I'm at it, may I see your files?"
Treize smiled. "That's right. There is no safety in this course. We are between Scylla and Charybdis, and we must work extremely hard to maintain our position."
"Sir?" asked Zechs, not understanding.
"Two monsters from Greek myth," Treize responded. "They guarded a certain set of straits that ships had to pass through. Scylla had ten heads that were always hungry. A ship passing close to his side could expect to lose a significant number of men to his appetite. Charybdis was more subtle, but much more dangerous. She created whirlpools on her side. It was easy to believe you could avoid her, only to lose your entire ship by drawing too close."
Treize took a deep breath. "The perils we face are much like Scylla and Charybdis. Scylla is where we look too dangerous or too attractive, and attract the antipathy of a few Alliance personnel. Though they are dangerous, we can fight them individually, or make small sacrifices to ward them off for a while. At the very worst, we can order some of our soldiers to lower their performances, but we should be safe if we can use the Alliance's internal competition against itself and keep the right people on our side.
"Charybdis is the one you should really worry about. Charybdis, for us, is not achieving the necessary quantity or quality of personnel that we need. How many soldiers is enough for our coup to succeed? It's a gray area, hard to define and harder to measure. All we know for certain is that the longer OZ is active in the Alliance, the greater the odds of our detection. We must achieve our coup soon or face exposure. Also, we will only get one chance at this—and I won't even discuss plans for 'if we fail.' Do you understand?"
Zechs nodded. Actually, this is the first time Treize has mentioned failure, even to dismiss it. "So I'm to choose to risk Scylla. I'm to step on the toes of Alliance brass and conspicuously perform to the best of my ability… if it means getting more personnel and operating freedom for OZ."
"At your discretion, of course," said Treize graciously. "I trust your judgment and your caution in this regard. It was possible, after all, to sail between Scylla and Charybdis without suffering attack from either monster—it was just rare."
Zechs nodded. "There is at least one benefit to our attracting so much attention to ourselves," he said.
"What's that?" asked Treize.
"Lake Victoria's reputation is increasing dramatically," he said with a smile. "Competition to enter the Lake Victoria military academy is much more intense than before. So is the competition to get into the advanced mobile suit school there. The average candidate to each school, therefore, is much more talented and much more motivated than before."
Treize caught Zechs' smile. "So your efforts are paying off. That's good. OZ will get stronger because of your efforts."
"Thank you, sir," was what Zechs said. Thank you, Noin, was what he thought.
Zechs had specially prepared his uniform and his appearance. Scrupulous under normal circumstances, Zechs was trying to be the epitome of professionalism.
Treize, standing beside and ahead of him, looked immaculate. But then, he always did.
"Sir," said Zechs tentatively, "I'm not sure of the social protocols here. How should I address the nobles?"
"Prudently and sparingly, as you would anyway," said Treize. "Most of the people in this particular circle are at the rank of marquis or duke, the top ranks. While you are being given an extraordinary grant, straight to the rank of baron, even the other barons will remain senior to you, as your grant is lifetime and theirs are hereditary. Everyone else is much, much senior to you."
"Right," said Zechs.
"Baron is the lowest rank one can have and still be regarded as a 'peer'. But don't let the notion that you're a 'peer' get to you—you won't be on the same tier with anyone," Treize continued. "As a general rule, speak only when spoken to, and stay close by me."
"Okay," said Zechs. I would do that anyway, Treize.
"If you can't remember someone's rank, don't speak to them at all. Guessing gets you into trouble both ways: guess low and you're insulting them, guess high and you're a flatterer, a bad one. Or simply ignorant, which you are, but the nobility is a social group. How well you follow the bylaws is how they measure your worth. If you must defend your quietness, tell them you're awed by being in such company. They like that. But only say that once; after that you sound like a flatterer again."
Zechs nodded, as if to encourage Treize to continue. In his gut, he knew there was no way he'd remember this once he went inside. This was Treize's home turf; Zechs was an uncomfortable, unwelcome guest. "Well, sir, what's your rank?"
Treize smiled his impenetrable smile. "As commander of OZ, technically I'm the highest ranked there. My permanent rank is… unimportant."
"But how am I to address you?" Zechs asked.
Treize closed his eyes in thought, then opened them again. "'Sir' will do nicely, since that is our relationship. You are, in this company, my vassal, so 'sir' should be enough."
They stood before an immense set of double doors. "Zechs Marquise," Treize said, not formally, but seriously enough for Zechs to devote him full attention. "You are about to enter into a meeting of the top circle of the Romefeller Foundation. They will bestow upon you the rank of baron, effectively making you one of them, which means that the pressure on you to act your station will be intense. We've gone over the actual mechanics of the ceremony. Do you have any further questions?"
Zechs nodded, smiling wryly. "How soon would it be polite to leave?"
Treize smiled in return. "I'm not going to answer that question."
Then he gave a hand signal, and two uniformed servants opened the doors.
The room into which they entered was a room that was begging to be taken seriously. Light entered through a series of kaleidoscopic stained-glass windows. At the front of the room was an enormous coat-of-arms. Elegant portraits of overly-attired nobles covered the walls. Yet to Zechs, the room was trying too hard to show its importance. It seemed to insist that simply being there was an honor.
These people believe that allowing others in their presence is to honor those others? Their pretentiousness rivals the Alliance's. I'm fighting to promote their rule?
You know my skepticism, Treize. You also know that I didn't have to come here to get my title from these people—you could have done it all yourself. So why did you bring me here? What benefit was there, for you or for me? Do you want me to feel revulsion towards our sponsors?
And then there was the more chilling thought. Or did you somehow think I wouldn't hate these people upon meeting them? Is this something you didn't expect? Is this the limit of your power?
He tried futilely to calm himself. I haven't actually met them yet. It is still possible they aren't as callous, self-important, greedy, and misguided as the Alliance. He followed carefully in Treize's steps, repeating that to himself.
He really should have trusted his instincts.
"Was it really so bad," asked Noin, "to drive you to drink something stronger than wine?"
Zechs paused in the middle of scanning the bar's menu. "Thank you," he said. "I almost forgot myself."
Noin frowned deeply. "Zechs, one of the things that I admire so much about you is your sense of identity. You know who you are, intimately. You couldn't "forget yourself". I know it couldn't be that bad."
Zechs only sighed in response. "Let's retire to a booth," he said.
She shook her head. "No need. The bartenders here are ours. I made sure of that. Not everyone has your self-control, so it seemed safest."
"Good move, but it doesn't apply in this case. After all, we are all servants of Romefeller. The things I'm about to say would count as treason, or at least slander."
"Let's move to a booth."
Zechs followed Noin to a corner booth. "So, what slanderous things did you find out about the officials of Romefeller?" she asked him.
"First and foremost," said Zechs, shaking his head, "that Treize's philosophy is not the dominant one, and peace is not everyone's ultimate objective."
Noin nodded. "You told me about Treize's goals before. Is there such a difference?"
"There is," said Zechs. "Treize believes that soldiers have intrinsic value—that the willingness to die is worth something by itself. His ideal is one where soldiers take upon themselves the suffering of their peoples and, win or lose, exorcise them. The blood of the soldier consecrates the conflict and removes the suffering felt by the people. Then, humanity can unite in a common celebration of such worthy champions, regardless of who was on what side. That's his ideal."
"Right," said Noin.
"It's an ideal that, ultimately, leads to peace." Zechs shook his head. "The most intoxicating part of the whole theory is that, when one exalts the warrior, parting with the warrior carries a pain of its own. Yes, the soldier is willing to die, which is what's so beautiful. But if one commits the soldier to death, then that beauty is perfected and destroyed simultaneously. So Treize celebrates and mourns for the lost souls together. And that mix of emotions brings peace—eventually, there develops an unwillingness to sacrifice so much beauty."
Noin smiled wryly. "Let me guess: the Foundation doesn't quite get it."
"The Foundation doesn't want to get it," Zechs said bitterly. "Sure, some of them feel that they're bringing back the old tradition of oblige noblesse—that the enlightened nobility are the right and proper rulers, because they know how to do it best. But they're the exception, not the rule; the rest are just hungry for power. They want to unite the world under their banner for their own sakes. It's not even as if they have some agenda or ideology they're trying to promote. They feel like they're the proper rulers of the world, and that's all the rationale they need. It excuses everything."
"It doesn't seem like the nobility would go for something built on warrior virtues, anyway," said Noin. "It's a paradox that, historically, noble titles were given in exchange for military service. Today, a noble title makes you a political actor, and you leave the fighting to others. You use family and retainers, even sons, but you stay home." She shook her head. "I'd be surprised if a philosophy of exalting the warrior resonated with anyone in the Foundation's hierarchy."
"Oh, it may have a few adherents," Zechs said vaguely. "But most see that as an issue for the soldiers—they don't feel that it matters to them. Besides, as far as they're concerned, soldiers don't need to worry about why to fight. They fight because the nobles tell them to. It's simple for them."
"Does Treize know any of this?" she wondered openly. "Does he realize that he has no sway amongst those for whom he's conquering the world?"
"You know Treize," he responded. "That man is opaque. I don't know anything beyond what he tells me directly—and sometimes I have to read into that." He shook his head. "Treize is like the ocean. You can only see so far, and beyond that you have no idea how deep it is or what's going on inside of it."
Noin took a drink and let the silence fill the booth for a moment. "If it's not too bold to say…" she began.
"I never want to hear those words from your mouth," said Zechs suddenly. "I'd hoped that this relationship would be one where neither of us had to worry about décor."
She smiled briefly, then continued. "Well, it seems like you came out of that meeting thoroughly disillusioned. I've always known you didn't quite believe Treize's preaching, and now you know who's going to rule the world after OZ's conquest. And you don't like them."
"Right," said Zechs.
"So," she went on, "You never did let me in on what you're doing here!"
He didn't respond immediately, so she pressed further. "You don't do things 'just because', Zechs, I know that. You're among the most thoughtful people I've ever met. You're helping to conquer the world—and doing a heck of a job at it, by all accounts—yet there's, as far as I can tell, no good that can possibly come out of it." She turned her head. "Excepting, of course, whatever you haven't told me yet."
Zechs turned away, stung. "Noin, I… I have reasons."
"Don't get the wrong impression," she said. "I'll support you no matter what. But it bothers me that you don't seem to know for yourself what you're supposed to do."
He lowered his head. "There is a reason, Noin. It… it would be dangerous for you to know about it."
She nodded. "I understand the limits of our openness now," she said evenly.
"It's not that!" he exploded. He quickly regained control of himself. "Not dangerous for me, dangerous for you. Dangerous for you to be that close to me. But, more importantly, it's just that… There was another reason I donned this mask, Lucrezia. It's to hide my shame. It's not a matter of trust, please understand that."
"I understand," she said, but she rose all the same. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Marquise."
Zechs was frozen in place as she left him. She spoke to me as if… as if we were strangers. She even used the decorum that goes with this accursed title.
Lucrezia… do you believe I don't want to tell you? Do you believe I enjoy carrying this solitary burden and shame? No. But it's something only I can do, something that has to be done no matter how odious it is. I don't want to taint you with the unpleasantness of this task. Your nature goes against it, anyway; you would help all you could with it, but you would regret it.
He sighed deeply. Of course, knowing that changes nothing. He glanced at the bar menu again, and took more time to look.
More time passed, and Zechs finally felt some relief. The Specials' advanced school had rotated its staff to 'second generation' pilots. The original thirty Zechs had taught himself had all gotten different assignments, such as instructing the all-Specials units or finding recruits. The new instructors at the Specials school had been taught by the thirty. For that reason, although the newest students looked up to Zechs as a person to emulate, they weren't learning "his" tactics; that was the way Specials had always done things. It was doctrine, no single person's but the organizations' instead. They didn't know that, just a short time before, Specials had no doctrine whatsoever. In fact, he sometimes wondered if they knew that, just a short time before, there had been no Specials at all.
Treize certainly never implied that Specials was a young force; the way he spoke of it, you could almost imagine Specials' forerunners amongst the Legions of Rome. But that's why he's the visionary, god-like leader, and I'm the instructor of pilots.
Zechs reported the news to Treize. "The tenets are so firmly entrenched now," he said, summarizing, "that they're not going to be lost. My work here is done."
"Excellent," said Treize. "We'll consider that particular training course to be your "book" on the Leo. Now write one on the Aires."
Zechs had too much self-control to swear, but he wanted to.
"I want your preliminary opinions on teaching methods and priorities within two weeks. Most of all, I want to know whether it would be better to "upgrade" pilots, letting them learn the Leo and then the Aires, or to start them off on Aires right away."
Zechs nodded, his mind already working on what he knew about the Aires. "When does my test Aires arrive, sir?"
Treize glanced at his watch. "Two minutes, ten seconds. On board is a list of available personnel. You can requisition some or all of them to help you run simulations and test engagements."
For someone who'd just dumped tons of work on his subordinate, he was a remarkably decent employer.
Zechs' first report was only one day late to Treize.
"I've sent my full opinions and thoughts in document form," he said to Treize, "but I assume you'd want to hear a verbal summary."
"Yes," Treize said simply, folding his hands patiently.
"The most significant difference between the Aires and the Leo is that the Aires is far more mobile," said Zechs. "The controls are very different than on the Leo due to the three-dimensional nature of the machine. Although the Leo's thrusters allowed it to jump and make small but significant evasive maneuvers, the Aires is built to fly and hover at will. Thus evasion is much easier, but effective targeting is extremely difficult."
Treize nodded. "Go on," he said.
"Overall, only the best pilots can take advantage of the mobility of the Aires while still maintaining the level of firepower we'd expect," he said. "It's a shame because the Aires rifle, technically, is not much inferior to the Leo's. However, the Aires' mobility cuts both ways—targeting is much more challenging in an Aires moving at high speeds and strange angles. The Aires also can't carry any kind of heavier weaponry, and its armor is somewhat thinner than the Leo's."
"So you have a negative impression of the Aires?" asked Treize.
"No, actually," said Zechs. "The greatly enhanced mobility of the Aires trumps most of the other concerns. For one thing, it makes the thinner armor less of an issue—not getting hit is far superior to relying on your armor to stop a hit, at least in combat against other mobile suits. But more importantly, the mobility of the Aires allows it to choose where and when it engages. A team of Aires moving in concert can break up larger enemy formations and cut smaller ones to shreds. The Aires is perfectly suited to the blitzkrieg tactics we've adopted. In a one-on-one battle, the Leo has more of a chance, but in groups the Aires has a large advantage. The larger the engagement, the more that mobility advantage matters."
Treize turned his head. "Yet I sense you're holding back on something. What is it?"
"Well," said Zechs, "the fact remains that the Aires is only good for offense. It can't walk very well and can't run at all, and when it's flying its maneuverability is still limited. It has to travel forward first before it goes in any direction. To go backwards, for example, it has to build up some speed and execute a broad loop, completely turning around. In contrast, a Leo can walk in any direction with almost the same amount of speed. To put it simply, the Aires is a straight line machine, perfect for offense but useless on defense. We can't rely entirely upon the Aires, because the Aires cannot defend ground. We're still going to have to mix Leos and Aires."
Treize continued to nod. "Very well. That's enough from the technical side. What does all this mean as far as policy goes?"
"Well, there are some things in the design that I'm not satisfied with," said Zechs. "This is an assault mobile suit, but the design lacks a heavy weapon it can use on hardened targets. The Aires can't deal with anything really big or really tough—and in an assault role, that's what it's going to find."
Treize frowned. "That is disappointing," he said. "I'll make sure some attention is paid to that problem."
"Thank you, sir. Also, if it's possible, the suit needs a better avionics and targeting suite—the pilot really needs help if he's going to be accurate, and as it is, he doesn't get much."
"I can encourage that as well," Treize responded. Zechs had the sneaking suspicion that his superior was being euphemistic.
"Also, due to the complexity of piloting the Aires and the differences between it and the Leo, I think it's a bad idea to train pilots in the Leo, and then in the Aires. After basic training, pilots should be sent to either the Leo or the Aires and specialize heavily. But as I said, the Leo is far more versatile than the Aires, so we have to use both."
He took a deep breath. "Having said all of that, I can request that the Aires be made the centerpiece of the OZ forces."
Treize raised his eyebrows—more of a reaction than Zechs had expected, actually. "That's a ringing endorsement, Zechs. Are you so confident?"
Zechs nodded. "Sir, OZ is going to be outnumbered in every battle we fight. When all mobile suits are equal, we can expect to suffer serious casualties. Yes, we have better pilots, but numbers do tell. However, if we have the Aires, the entire equation changes. It fits perfectly into all of our strategies and tactics.
"It's just right for our tactics, using maneuver first and firepower second, breaking up the enemy's concentration and mulching him unit by unit, suit by suit. On a strategic level, our goal is to paralyze individual Alliance bases and then mop them up with fast-moving forces, establishing local superiority at certain points. The Aires is the fastest mobile suit unit available. This allows us to mass and disperse quickly, never giving the Alliance the opportunity to strike back at us. It's the tool we've been missing in our arsenal, and now we have it. We need to take advantage of it and incorporate it into our doctrine now, so that we have a seasoned force before the critical moment."
"Excellent," said Treize, smiling. "I concur with your assessments. In the meantime, I want you to continue working with the Aires. I've already given you authority to requisition certain pilots and a number of Aires for this purpose. Now I'm expanding your orders. The written form will arrive shortly, but I want you to think about it now. I'm giving you the power to demand any Specials forces you want in order to test out the Aires. I want you to write the book of Aires tactics, and I'm giving you authority over any tools you decide you need."
Zechs rocked back in his chair. "Sir, that's… overwhelming," he managed. "It's certainly more than I'm going to need."
Treize shook his head. "Regardless, I want you to have that authority because I want your report to be comprehensive. You do your part—learn the Aires inside and out, and learn how to teach the Aires to others—and I'll do my part and get you the weapons and computers you need."
Zechs smiled. "Yes, sir."
"I've successfully requisitioned a certain area in the mountains of former Pakistan. Specific information is on its way, but that area is yours to use at will." Treize looked like he would speak more, but then he stopped. "Do you hear that, my friend?"
"No, sir," Zechs said truthfully. "What is it?"
"It's the music of change," Treize said, smiling broadly. "It grows louder in my ears the closer we get to the day of our coup. I've already named it. "Operation Daybreak"—the first day of the new world."
Treize's magnetism was so intense when he spoke with such grandiosity. "Sir, I'll just focus on the Aires for now," said Zechs.
"As well you should," said Treize. "We shall speak later."
"You know where to find me, sir."
Zechs found Noin in her office. "Hello, Noin," he said.
As usual, she stopped what she was doing to face him. "Hello, Zechs."
Zechs breathed a sigh of relief. Her voice was cold just now, but at least she didn't call me "Lord Marquise" again. "Noin," he started, "I'm heading out. I'm going to be doing tests with the Aires in multiple environments and some heavy combat training. I'll be away for a while this time."
"I understand," she said tonelessly.
"Is there anything you need from me before I go?" he asked.
"No," she said.
He had to break the tension—this was maddening. "You've gotten very good at this job, Noin," he said. "Better even than I expected."
"I'm becoming the person you wanted me to be," she said.
Zechs shuddered, struck by the enormity of the statement she'd just made. That's not quite true, he said to himself. You always wanted to be an instructor so that you could help people. I helped you achieve that goal!
But, if that's true, then why—why does it sound like an excuse?
Reaching into a pocket, Zechs took out a folded piece of paper. He walked towards her desk, his face turned away from her. "If you want to know why I'm helping Treize… the beginning of the answer is here," he said. He deposited the paper on her desk, then turned back towards the door. "I'll be sure to come by and see you first thing when I get back."
"Of course," she responded. But her voice was a touch warmer than it had been.
He left her office, part of him numb, and wondered whether what he'd just done was bravery or cowardice.
Noin continued with her duties the rest of the day, carefully working around the paper on her desk. At the end of the day, she picked the paper up and took it back to her room. She held it in her hands for several minutes before setting it down, unopened.